


Know Better

by Legendgrass



Series: Dragon Age II [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Banter, Canon-Typical Slurs, Denial of Feelings, F/F, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Angst, Internal Conflict, Sexual Confusion, T for Cussing, and such ;)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28093488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legendgrass/pseuds/Legendgrass
Summary: “I really must get this done,” Aveline repeated, nearly a plea at this point. All she wanted was to finish this accursed report and go home where she could escape into sleep. Maybe in her dreams she would marry Guardsman Donnic and watch Isabela drown at sea.Isabela straightened up and offered an innocent shrug. “I don’t intend to stop you,” she allowed, palms upturned beneath a suspicious growing smirk. “In fact, I’m even willing to help.”
Relationships: Isabela/Aveline Vallen
Series: Dragon Age II [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992538
Kudos: 8





	Know Better

**Author's Note:**

> this ship never even occurred to me till I had a dream...& no, I'm not going to explain ;)

Aveline was hunched over her desk at the viscount’s keep, brow knotted in consternation, and had been for hours when the rattle of the door jolted her to her senses. At first she expected an intruder, wary as she was, and she almost reached for her sword before her eyes caught on a flash of blue and gold and she relaxed—barely. It was only Isabela, but she still counted as an intruder, really. Especially since she hadn’t even bothered to knock.

“What do you want?” Aveline greeted the pirate’s unexpected entrance with as much tact as she could muster—which, right now, was none at all. Her tone came out hardly more pleasant than a growl.

Isabela’s brows twitched up and she crossed her arms indignantly. “Well, I was _going_ to invite you to the Hanged Man for a round with Hawke and Varric, but I see you’re otherwise occupied.” Her amber eyes raked distastefully over the neat stacks of paperwork on Aveline’s desk.

“Right,” the guard captain grumbled, returning her eyes to her report and praying that’d be the end of it—but when was it ever? When Isabela lingered in her periphery instead of taking her leave, Aveline suppressed a sigh. She might as well call it quits now; one glance at the pirate’s face told her she was not getting any more work done tonight if Isabela had anything to say about it. That didn’t mean she was going to give up without a fight, though. “So you can be on your way,” she said pointedly, holding Isabela’s gaze with a glower that could melt steel. At least, she liked to think it could.

Isabela’s lips quirked in that annoying way of theirs: teasing, flippant, distracting, like they always did when she was about to cause trouble. “That sounds like an awful waste of a trip,” she mourned with an exaggerated sigh. “Do you know how many bloody steps I had to climb to get here?”

“In fact, I do. I happen to patrol the city on a regular basis,” Aveline cut down her argument at the roots. She rolled her quill between her fingers, wondering how much tighter she’d have to squeeze it before it snapped. She must be close already. “Look,” she forced her voice level despite the frustration that threatened to boil over. “I haven’t the patience for your antics tonight, Isabela. I’ve been sitting here for four hours and I still have a report to finish by morning. Give Hawke my sincerest apologies, but I won’t be down to Lowtown tonight.” In truth, she probably _could_ finish the report in time to pop over for a drink, but she figured she’d be about as amicable as a stormcloud by that point. Especially if Isabela kept at her.

Which, naturally, she did. The pirate slouched against the stone wall and crossed her legs at the ankles, looking as if she intended to stay there for a while. She never was one to give up a chase so easily. “Four hours, big girl? Don’t you think you deserve a break?”

Aveline grit her teeth and spoke through them, glaring first at her work then back at the pirate. “I’ll be able to take a break once I finish this report. Which requires that you _go away._ ”

Isabela was unaffected by her irritation. “Frown any harder and you’ll get wrinkles,” she admonished lightly, not budging from the wall. “We wouldn’t want that.”

Aveline slumped back in her chair and ran both hands over her freckled face wearily. This was exactly why she hadn’t wanted Isabela to stick around. She had the _worst_ timing—probably on purpose—and the worst habit of wheedling till Aveline wanted to scream. “Are you naturally this insufferable, or do you practice?” she sniped.

“Yes, indeed,” replied Isabela with perfect good cheer. Finally she pushed off the wall, and Aveline had the passing hope that she’d decided to leave before the pirate approached her desk instead. She had a sympathetic pout on her face, and it almost looked genuine. “Really, Aveline. You’re tenser than Hawke in Hightown,” she observed, which was quite the statement. Hawke could barely set foot outside the estate without being bombarded with mundane requests from desperate townspeople; she had good reason to be wary. “When was the last time you relaxed?”

“Sometime before I met you, certainly,” Aveline muttered, trying to refocus on her papers and failing as the pirate’s hips drew level with her line of sight.

“Ooh, are you saying I ruffle your feathers, big girl?” Isabela planted her hands on the desk and leaned over them and needless to say, her hips were no longer the most distracting feature within Aveline’s view. “I thought only Guardsman Donnic had that privilege.”

That made Aveline’s lip curl as her anger spiked. Isabela _knew_ she’d been having trouble attracting Donnic’s attention, and she _knew_ she was embarrassed enough about it. “Is everything a game to you?” she snarled, wanting to grab the front of Isabela’s skimpy tunic and give her a good shake, among other things.

“I do prefer it that way,” Isabela said just as airily as always, but her eyes seemed a little too sharp. “I’m rather good at games.”

Aveline dropped her gaze under that look. “Well, I’m not.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

“I _really_ must get this done,” she repeated, nearly a plea at this point. All she wanted was to finish this accursed report and go home where she could escape into sleep. Maybe in her dreams she would marry Guardsman Donnic and watch Isabela drown at sea.

Isabela straightened up and offered an innocent shrug. “I don’t intend to stop you,” she allowed, palms upturned beneath a suspicious growing smirk. “In fact, I’m even willing to help.”

Aveline eyed her with extreme doubt. “You. Help,” she repeated incredulously.

“It happens!” Isabela threw up her hands in mock protest. Then she regained her smirk, all the more obvious this time, and tapped one finger to it thoughtfully as she began to circle the desk toward the guardswoman. “And I know just the thing you need.”

Aveline kept her expression perfectly stoic with effort. “If you say sex, I am going to strangle you where you stand.”

Isabela let out a musical laugh, which would have been charming except that she followed it up with, “Of course not, big girl. I know a lost cause when I see one.” Before Aveline could make a retort, she continued: “Just hear me out.” Something in her voice on that phrase was different; softer, smoother, and it made Aveline want to squirm in her seat.

Then the pirate drifted around behind her chair, and one brown hand came to rest on her shoulder.

Aveline tensed under it. “What are you—"

“Or, rather… _feel_ me out, I suppose,” Isabela positively purred at the same time her second hand sought out Aveline’s other shoulder, and she suddenly squeezed with both. Through the cloth of her tunic, the touch dug easily into Aveline’s bunched muscles, and a mingled wave of pleasure and pain radiated from the spot. The guard captain gasped.

This is _not at all_ what she’d been expecting when Isabela strode into her office a moment ago. Aveline felt her previous frustration morph into something like panic. Off the battlefield, Aveline trusted the pirate about as far as she could throw her (as the expression went. Truthfully, she might be able to throw her a respectable distance), and she did not like being uncertain of her intentions. “Isabela—" she began, embarrassingly shaky.

“ _Relax,_ ” the pirate instructed close by her ear, followed by another press of her slender hands. Then they trailed down to knead at the planes of Aveline’s back, knobby knuckles digging in deliciously, and all further argument dissolved into a groan in the back of the guard captain’s throat. She braced her hands against the desk, summoning all the willpower she had to keep from melting under the not-totally-unwelcome attention. So maybe she _had_ been remarkably tense, and maybe Isabela was _very_ skilled at finding all the right places to push to make her fall apart—but she didn’t have to be pleased about it.

Only, keeping her composure beneath those wandering hands was harder than she’d thought. She barely managed it. She did not at all, however, manage to keep a flame-red flush from climbing into her cheeks. 

What in _Andraste’s_ name was happening?

She and Isabela had touched before, obviously. It was hard to keep elbows and shoulders from bumping while sharing a bench at the Hanged Man or fighting back-to-back against wave after wave of enemies who seemingly appeared out of thin air. It was somewhat harder to end up clasping hands as one helped the other up off the battlefield after a tough fight, or supporting one’s weight as the other stumbled drunk to her room, but they did that, too. It was bound to happen when they were together so often. But it was always practical. Always fleeting. Never like this.

Never so _sensual._

Aveline couldn’t stand Isabela; that was the truth. However, it was _also_ (grudgingly) true that Aveline had no idea what she’d do without the pirate in her life. Laugh less often, to be sure, but what else? She’d grown rather fond of having a target to bounce endless insults off of and receiving the same in return. She had also, if she was being honest, grown rather fond of gambling her spending money into Isabela’s purse on the weekends, listening to the pirate’s tall but riveting tales of the high seas, and sparring with her on the days that she just had to vent. She knew that as unreliable as Isabela could be, she had her back in a fight, and that meant a lot to someone who got into many, many fights.

There was also the inconvenient matter of her being…stunning. _You’re not_ **_that_ ** _pretty,_ Aveline had griped before in a fit of jealous derision, but anybody with eyes could tell that that was a load of rubbish. Isabela was not just attractive because of the generous curves she so liked to flaunt, but also because of the regal slant of her cheekbones; the shine of her dark hair; the knowing sparkle in her eyes; the cords of lean muscle in her arms; the way she could slit a person’s throat as easily as she could sweet-talk them into anything she wanted (sort of like right now). Aveline had always been partial to men, but… _but_ … 

Aveline couldn’t stand Isabela, but at the same time, she couldn’t stand the thought of living without her.

_Oh, Maker._

She hadn’t exactly thought of it that way until just now—which was regrettable, since the best time to be having damning realisations was decidedly _not_ while the object of said realisations had her hands all over you.

If that wasn’t bad enough, Isabela chose that moment to circle round Aveline’s chair and, with the slow, deliberate grace of a predator stalking its prey, slide smoothly _onto her lap._

“Andraste’s blessed knees—!” Aveline swore in a flustered rush. hands flying up to close around Isabela’s biceps to shove her away, certainly, except once they were there, Aveline _didn’t._ They simply held her there in white-knuckled indecision and with every passing second Aveline became a little less sure of what exactly she was supposed to do in this situation. In all of her wildest dreams, she’d never—

Okay, that was a lie, but she’d never thought this would _actually_ happen.

“This is a better angle,” Isabela explained with a sultry smile on her lips that said she was fully aware that that was a weak excuse. But, just to keep up appearances, apparently, she shifted her massaging to the muscles on either side of Aveline’s neck, rubbing away one sort of tension even as she actively created another.

“This wasn’t part of the arrangement,” Aveline gasped out, irritated that it didn’t come out anything like the growl she intended.

Isabela looked at her with wide, innocent eyes. “What arrangement?” she asked.

It was then that the guardswomen realised how under-negotiated this all was, and what that usually led to where Isabela was concerned, and a rush of accusing anger seized her by the throat. “You shameless slattern,” she _did_ manage to growl this time. She’d _said_ that if Isabela made this about sex, she was at risk of strangulation by a particular pair of mannish hands, and yet here she was with the pirate on her _lap_ of all things, but it was easier to get upset at Isabela than at herself. She’d known the bloody whore would try something sooner or later; isn’t that what she always did? Sometimes it was with Hawke, sometimes it was with Fenris—not usually with Aveline, but what difference did it make? Isabela was playing her like she did everybody else. Aveline was righteously furious (and beneath that, royally embarrassed), and was about to let the pirate know as much with a few choice words when Isabela spoke first:

“You haven’t pushed me away yet.”

“I—I—" All Aveline’s momentum stumbled and stuttered to a stop.

Right. So she hadn’t.

The guardswoman could only swallow hard, finding her throat bone dry behind the desert of her burning cheeks. She hadn’t pushed Isabela away. That was pretty telling, wasn’t it? She was caught. She was exposed. She’d surprised even herself. And yet Isabela seemed perfectly content with that, and Aveline…didn’t actually hate it as much as she should have. Realizing that there was nothing stopping her from getting very in over her head very quickly, Aveline wracked her brain for objections. Besides, of course, _you’re an insufferable prig._ “You and Hawke—"

“—haven’t signed a contract,” Isabela cut her off immediately with the ghost of a mischievous smile. Then she sobered and shifted her weight as if about to stand up. Her eyes held Aveline’s intently. The guard captain had never seen her look so earnest. “I’ll stop if you want me to, Aveline.” _Oh._ Eye contact, _and_ she used her name. That’s how Aveline knew she was perfectly serious.

Fear replacing anger for the nth time this evening, the guard captain screwed her eyes shut and forced another swallow. So it was all up to her, then. She supposed it always was, with Isabela. The pirate would only push as hard as she was pushed herself, whether they were arguing or drinking or—or, whatever this was, apparently. And Aveline had a choice. She could shove Isabela off of her right now like all her common sense told her to and feel the sweet relief of safety settle onto her shoulders—along with the lingering sting of _what if?_ Or, she could plunge ahead into the dark of the unknown with nothing to guide her but the flickering flame of fledgling feeling in her chest and Isabela’s waiting hands. 

If they continued, and this went well, she figured Isabela would brush it off with a witty comment and they’d go about their business tomorrow as usual. If it went badly, well…to be honest, the outcome would likely be the same, with a dash of extra awkwardness. Hawke would blame Isabela if she ever found out (or cared), and Donnic, well, he wasn’t exactly a true player in this game just yet.

So, Aveline figured, what did she really have to lose? 

She didn’t trust her voice to remain steady just now; not with this frightening new realisation and Isabela’s amber eyes burning into her from a handsbreadth away and her arms around Aveline’s shoulders and her satiny copper thighs against—

Anyway. Rather than stumbling over a verbal answer, the guard captain lifted one hand and, carefully, like Isabela might spook if she moved too fast, cradled the pirate’s jaw between calloused fingertips. She could both feel and see the tension go out of Isabela’s own posture at the touch, as if she’d been…worried, perhaps, of her answer. Then the Rivaini’s eyes went deliciously heavy-lidded, just before Aveline gathered the constitution to pull in a deep breath and then lean forward, just enough… 

The guardswoman couldn’t stifle a gasp at the feeling of Isabela’s lips—not just the soft, supple caress of them against her own, but the electric shock they sent shooting down her spine and through every limb. Her fingers tightened against her will, and Isabela hummed something that might have been a laugh, but Aveline was too busy having a serious medical event to tell. She felt as if her heart were about to stop, it was stumbling so hard. Her face must have matched the colour of her hair. Isabela’s hands slid from her shoulders to trail over her cheekbones, and Aveline very nearly moaned.

_Andraste’s flaming tits._

Was kissing someone supposed to feel this…powerful? It had always been nice with Wesley and the man or two she’d flirted with before him, but it had never sent her into a tizzy like this. Never made her want _more_ quite so badly. Her insides felt like they were squirming behind her ribs, and she couldn’t quite keep from chasing after Isabela’s lips again and again and again. 

She was beginning to think she really should pull away before she did something regrettable—an option that was becoming increasingly likely by the second. Then the pirate’s fingers threaded into her hair and tugged her head to the side so their lips could lock more firmly and at the same time she pressed forward so her breasts came flush with Aveline’s body and—

“ _Shit,_ ” escaped from the guardswoman’s mouth, horribly desperate and hoarse, before she could clamp her teeth down on it.

This time there was no doubt that Isabela’s responding noise was a laugh. She was _laughing_ at her. That made Aveline remember with violent suddenness that she was supposed to be _mad_ at Isabela; she was supposed to be doing _paperwork,_ not necking with her in a chair. She broke away while the indignance was fresh; before the flood of inevitable lust could seep back in, and pushed the pirate back by the shoulders.

She opened her mouth to say something scathing, but the sight of Isabela’s eyes nearly glowing with fondness and her shapely lips, still half-parted, brought her up short. She _had_ been the one to initiate the kiss, after all. She supposed it wasn’t fair to blame it on Isabela.

Not _all_ of it, at least.

Those lovely, soft lips crooked up in a smirk. “Feeling better?” Isabela purred, sliding her hands down to squeeze Aveline’s shoulders one last time. And—

They really _were_ quite loose now, Maker curse it, but Aveline didn’t have to give her the satisfaction of acknowledging that. Instead she tore her gaze from Isabela’s mouth (oh, she’d never look at it the same again) and scoffed not-quite-sourly, “Poxy tart.”

Isabela’s eyes sparkled even as she gasped in mock outrage and swatted Aveline lightly on the cheek. “Lady Man-Hands,” she shot back.

And it was almost just like normal—almost. Except for the part that they had just shared a passionate kiss and Aveline very dearly wanted to do it again. She groaned miserably. _What_ had she gotten herself into? And how was she ever supposed to get herself back out?

To start, she figured she ought to say something. Something other than a half-hearted insult, that is. “Right. Um,” she began awkwardly ( _s_ _hit,_ her lips were still tingling) and ran a hand over her face as if she could rub away the flaming blush there. No surprise: she couldn’t. She went to shift in her seat like she did when she was nervous, but Isabela’s weight was still pinning her, not unpleasantly. She almost groaned again. “Thank you, I suppose?”

Isabela chuckled and leaned in to give her one final peck right beside her mouth. Was…was she blushing also? “No need to thank me,” she said warmly as she pulled back. Then she patted Aveline’s shoulders and began to rise to her feet, her absence leaving a chill behind. Her lips twisted with a hint of humor. “I think I caused you about as much pain as I did pleasure, anyway.” Which...was true, if one were to count emotional pain, but Aveline didn’t entirely regret it. The pirate’s eyes flickered to her toes before meeting the guard captain’s again, and she paused on the way to the door. “But, um…let me know if you ever want to…do this again, all right?” Did she sound…shy? Surely not. But Aveline squinted slightly and determined that yes, Isabela _was,_ in fact, a mite red in the face, and something sparked in her own chest. _She_ had made _Isabela_ blush?

A grin tugged at her own lips, and it occurred to her that she wanted to do it again. She couldn’t stand Isabela, but…really, she rather liked her a lot, didn’t she? Maybe it wasn’t so bad to admit that once in a while. “I…” Her voice came out a little weak, and she cleared her throat before trying again. “I will,” she promised, and it no longer surprised her that she meant it.

Isabela flashed her a returning smile before she slipped out the door, and it looked as if she meant it, too.

Once Aveline was alone again, she sat back in her chair and sighed out all her air, feeling about as substantial as a puddle. Isabela tended to have that effect on people; Aveline had just always considered herself immune. She knew better now.

Her eyes fell on the report still glaring at her from her desk, and she wondered how bad it would really be to just leave it till morning. After all, she did deserve a break, didn’t she? A smile settled onto her lips.

Maybe she’d make it to Lowtown tonight after all.

…


End file.
